Monday, February 23, 2015

I’ve been told I’m irresistible to women. Like catnip for a different type of pussy-cat. I guess you could call me a Tom Cat.

This is the story about how I lost my wingman, broke all my own rules, and found myself falling in love.

Tom Donnelly isn't the marrying kind, or the dating kind. Even after losing his #1 wingman to love, he doesn't see the point in relationships. When his sister's best friend returns to Whidbey Island and propositions Donnelly for a one-night stand, he breaks one of his biggest rules—no fooling around with his sisters' friends. It's just sex, nothing more. That's what Tom does and does well.

What happens when "just sex" isn't enough?

Hailey King is more than a match for Tom's flirtations. She's known him most of her life and has heard the rumors about his "skills" for years. When her perfectly planned future falls apart, will the last man she should ever fall for turn out to be more than a one-night stand?

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Daisy Prescott's Bio:

Before writing bestselling contemporary adult romances, I dreamed of being an author while doing a lot of other things. Antiques dealer, baker, blue ribbon pie-maker, fangirl, freelance writer, gardener, pet mom and wife are a few of the other titles I've acquired over the years.

Born and raised in San Diego, I currently lives in a real life Stars Hollow in the Boston suburbs with my husband, our dog Hubbell, and an imaginary house goat.

Missionary Position is a spin-off from my first novel, Geoducks Are for Lovers. Like my second novel, Ready to Fall, it can be read as a standalone contemporary romance/romantic comedy.

About the Author:

Prologue:

When she walked toward me, I was ninety-percent certain she wanted to slap me. I spread my stance and tensed for the impact. Sadly, she wouldn’t be the first woman to smack me or attempt it. Good thing I was pretty fast at dodging and weaving.

I held her gaze as she got closer. Part of me wanted to close my eyes and turn the other cheek … literally. Or back down the hall and hide in the men’s room. Ah, the men’s bathroom. A place no woman dared to go unless absolutely necessary. Urinals freaked them out.

I took a big step backward and then another until the darkness of the hall to the back room enveloped me. I wasn’t running. Far from it. I moved slowly and kept my eyes on my assailant stalking toward me.

I probably should have asked myself why she wanted to slap me. Had I stopped to think, I might have realized unlike most women with the same expression on their face, I hadn’t actually given her a reason to be mad at me. At least none I knew about.

Her eyes narrowed and she cut the distance between us in half with two long strides. To my left was the door to the bathroom and potential salvation. Further behind me stood the backdoor and freedom. While I debated hiding or fleeing, she made the decision for me by grabbing the front of my shirt.

“Hey, what’s up?” Always act innocent. In this case, I didn’t have to act.

“I’ve been looking all over for you tonight.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You have?”

She stared at my mouth and pressed her lips together. “I have. Why is a good man hard to find when you need him?”

Her words rearranged themselves in my head after she’d spoken them. “Don’t you mean a hard man is good to find when you need him?”

She snorted out a laugh. “Exactly. You read my mind.” Her hand not clutching my shirt touched the bared skin above my belt.

“Hey, whoa, where you going with that hand?” I jerked my hips back to escape her wandering fingers.

“I need a good man. And since I don’t know any good men, I decided I needed a hard man tonight.”

“Okay.” I grabbed her hands in mine to protect myself from her assault. “Can I ask you one thing?”

“Sssure.”

The subtle slur answered my question, but I asked it anyway. “Have you been drinking?”

“Tommm, don’t be mean. You sleep with everyone on the island. I need you to sleep with me. Now.” The slight rasp to her voice had strengthened into a sultry purr.

Definitely not sober. “What happened to your own man? Have sex with him.”

She pressed a finger to my lips. “No talking, more sex.”

“More implies there’s some sex to begin with.” I couldn’t figure out why I bothered to argue. Sex without strings was my thing.

But could I have stringless sex with her? I had rules.

While I was lost in some sort of moral debate, she kissed me.

Worse, my body responded, and I liked it. A lot.

She was an amazing kisser—even buzzed and with grabby hands, her lips and tongue teased mine with a balance of aggression and skill.

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